Cue
by Muphrid
Summary: A short story collection featuring our favorite scientist and detective.
1. Cream

Shinichi had planned everything in excruciating detail for White Day. He decided he wouldn't try to make chocolates surreptitiously, not even with Ran's help. He picked these out special, not something exotic that would try to bamboozle her with the money he could throw at the problem. He was lucky in that respect. When he's arrived at the store, they were out of white chocolates with cookies and cream, but an employee was just restocking them, and he got the first of the new batch.

He has his itinerary set down to the minute, but he baked in an extra couple of hours to get to Shiho's place because, well, he was Shinichi Kudo, and if a day passed without someone calling upon him for a case, it would've been a surprise. Sure enough, about ten minutes before he was due to leave for the station, he got a call about a dead body in a shrub maze. Getting lost with one's lover, in a place with lots of privacy—a good place for a date and a murder. He wished he'd thought of that—for a date, of course, not anything else. Just as he was starting to worry about making the train on time, he spotted a few birds running underneath the shrubs and realized how the killer escaped without being noticed. If not for that casual glance, he would've been late.

When he arrived at Shiho's lab, it was already far later than he'd hoped, but Shiho was still running an experiment, and her advisor led him to Shiho's desk to wait. It was only thanks to that coincidence of timing that he was there when another man showed up.

"Who are you?" the other man asked.

Shinichi didn't see a point in getting his name involved. "I'm waiting for someone."

"This is Miyano-san's desk," the other man said.

Shinichi nodded.

The other man seemed to start processing what that meant. He had a small box under his arm, with white wrapping paper and pink ribbon. "What's your relationship to Miyano-san?"

"I'm her boyfriend," Shinichi said.

"What? No, I—I'm her boyfriend!"

A good detective can look into a man's eyes, listen to his affect and cadence, and even smell emotion in the air. He can do all that and get a good idea of the truth, but it's far from proof. "You know she loves classic cars," Shinichi said. "I tried showing off a friend's Porsche 356A, but she wasn't impressed. No reaction."

"Of course she wasn't impressed. She's infamously picky."

Shinichi shot him a look that said _wrong answer_ , and the other man shrank.

"Okay," the other man admitted. "She was my girlfriend, before. I was hoping, uh—"

"You can speak to her if you like," Shinichi said, rising from Shiho's chair. "I'll be outside."

"Are you sure?"

Shinichi was quite sure. If he was the man Shinichi was thinking of, he and Shiho were still friends, and it would probably be better if he got the idea out of his system—one way or another. Besides, no one could tell Shiho Miyano who to date or fall in love with. If Shinichi tried to manipulate someone out of her life, all these fortunate moments that had put him in that chair just in time to see this would've been all for naught.

Shinichi waited in the break room outside Shiho's lab, and after about half an hour, he saw Shiho's friend wander out, box in hand but unwrapped and opened. A good touch. Shinichi approved.

Shiho followed soon after, not quite as composed and cool as she usually was. "Sorry about that," she said, and she shot a glance down the hall. "I didn't know he felt that way."

He slid the box of white chocolates with cookies and cream over to her, and she opened them without asking—so typical of her that it made him smile.

"Why cookies and cream?" she asked after finishing a piece.

He could give a hundred reasons, but more than any other, he thought that it was fitting for her. Regular chocolate is smooth. The cookie bits inside gave the chocolate an irregular and unpredictable texture. That always kept him on his guard, but it wasn't a bad thing. Everybody likes cookies, after all. As for the cream, it felt fitting of her cool side, and aside from that, he liked the taste.

"Sounds like you got chocolates for me that you could've liked to receive," she said, sliding the box back to him jokingly.

"I might've been hoping for a taste."

"Oh really?" She unwrapped another piece, and he tried snatching it from her fingers, but she plopped it into her mouth. "Too bad," she said, and if she weren't trying so hard to be cool, she would've been grinning ear-to-ear, he was sure.

"You shouldn't eat so much chocolate before dinner," he insisted, and as she took a third piece from the box, he caught her hand.

"Hey!" she cried. "It's mine!"

"Let's play rock-paper-scissors for it," he offered.

There was a flash in her eye. She always liked a good chance to best him, so she agreed. Shinichi felt that fortune was on his side that day, so as they prepared themselves, he was confident and sure. He'd cut through every obstacle already, so he played scissors.

Shiho played rock.

With a sigh, Shinichi pushed the third piece of chocolate toward her, and she happily took a bite, too satisfied with herself, and as Shinichi prodded her to pack it up and get ready for dinner—they'd have to stop by her place first to let her freshen up—he lamented that he'd been so irrational in thinking that luck was on his side. Any practical mind such as his would recognize that some things are the product of chance, of variables far too complex and uknonwn for one man's mind to predict. That store clerk had had to restock the chocolates well before Shinichi had ever walked into the store. Those birds were just following their instincts. Shinichi's timing in being in Shiho's chair was not any providence but just a happy accident.

Even so, on their way out of the lab, Shiho did something unexpected. She tugged on his shoulder, just enough to get his attention, and kissed him. She kissed him so deeply and passionately—how did she manage to turn that up so quickly and always act cool after?—that it was almost enough to make him believe in luck again.

"You seemed disappointed earlier," she explained as she pulled away. "How about now?"

"I—I'm good," he said.

She smiled at that, and for a moment, Shinichi thought he tasted a little bit of cream.

* * *

 _For CoAi Central's 2018 White Day writing challenge._


	2. Blind

Ai was blind. She moved her hands cautiously, respecting the darkness, and she was alone, save for the voice in her ear.

"A little up and to your right," said Conan.

She hated that she had to follow his orders without question, but she was in no position to question him. She'd tried to keep track of what he'd instructed her to do before and how good it had felt, but after a few rounds, she'd lost all track of things, and for the last few minutes, she hadn't bothered.

This time was different. She inched her hand through space—up and to her right—and touched something wooden and wobbly. There were audible gasps around her, but with just the tip of her finger, she steadied the object.

"That one?" she asked.

"Yeah, I like that one," said Conan.

With her thumb and forefinger, she grabbed onto the object.

"No, you've got two on your thumb," he said.

She slid her thumb back toward the corner, and feeling confident she had only one piece, she began to pull it loose. More gasps. People were worried. The whole object seemed to sway in her grasp. She hesitated.

"You're fine," said Conan. "Keep going."

"It's moving all over the place," she protested.

"It's fine," he said confidently. "Don't worry. I'd never let us fall down here."

So sure he was, as if he could reassure her and make all her fears go away thanks just to the certainty in his voice. He _would_ believe something like that.

Ai obliged him, pulling the piece free. Held breaths were finally released, and she replaced the piece on top. Conan worried that she was being too bold, but Ai had a feel for what she was doing, and though she couldn't see, she was quite sure of herself, too. She placed her piece back again, and Conan was pleased. "Nice, Haibara!" he said.

And Ai was certainly pleased with herself, especially when Ayumi and Genta went next, with Genta guiding Ayumi, and Ayumi, anxious over the situation, decided she didn't like what Genta was asking her to do. She tried to pull a different piece, and the whole thing came crashing down. It was a relief, too, to be able to take off her blindfold and see the Jenga tower she'd been working on for the last twenty minutes—or what was left of it.

The others didn't understand. Genta and Ayumi working together had been like pulling teeth, but Conan and Ai had quickly found a rhythm despite the complexity of the game. How had they done it?

Ai and Conan exchanged a glance. He shrugged his shoulders, and she smiled coyly. It takes a little time, she thought, to learn to trust someone. She considered telling the kids that, but they would learn that soon enough anyway, and for now, she and Conan could keep that to themselves.

* * *

 _For CoAi Week 2018 Prompt #1 – "Trust"_


	3. Promise

When the anniversary of Akemi Miyano's death came, Ai didn't go to school. She didn't ask him to make up an excuse, but what else could he do? He warned her that the only good excuse was to say she was ill, and that would invite problems. The Detective Boys would probably want to visit. What was he going to say then—that she was too ill to be seen? "Tell them whatever you want," she texted to him when he asked. He scoffed on reading that.

Of course, things only got worse from there. They had handouts to take home, which meant Conan would have to take Ai's copies and make a delivery. Ai had been scheduled for duty during lunch, so Conan took that over, too. Then, of course, the four of them ran into a dead body in a tree on their way home from school. How a dead man ended up five meters in the air was, unfortunately, the only thing interesting about the case, and having to corrall the Detective Boys on his own was no easy feat, either. They were good kids, but they still had a lot of learning to do about the finer points of detective work, and with no one else in on his secret to talk to, Conan felt like he was going to lose his voice after trying to speak like a child for so long.

When he did finally make it to the Professor's, Ai was predictably holed up in her basement lab. She wasn't working, and she'd hardly eaten. From what the Professor could tell, she'd been listening to her mother's tapes all day. Conan didn't bother asking about them, knowing she wouldn't talk about it if she didn't want to, but when he urged her to go upstairs and eat dinner, she spoke up.

"Each meal could be our last, you know," she pointed out. "I think I'd like to have something fancy before I die."

None of them could afford things like that often, let alone every day, but he gladly would've paid for that a thousand times over if it would've made a difference, but it wouldn't. Ai may have worried about Gin or Vermouth or someone else coming after her, but in Conan's opinion, the real danger was the threat inside her own head. He could install cameras on the Professor's property and have the police keep tabs on them, but he couldn't keep those dark thoughts out of her skull.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked curtly.

"Just go," she said, still with her headphones on. "I'm fine."

"I said I wouldn't."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He wasn't going to waste his time explaining. He needed to get home for dinner.

"Kudo-kun."

He stopped at the doorway. "What?"

"There's something I don't understand from one of my mother's tapes," she explained. "Some kind of coded riddle. Would you give it a try?"

A coded riddle, huh? Leave it to her mom to put something in there like that. She must not have trusted that everything she said would be left alone. Ai had already written it down, but he'd need everything—the point in the tape where her mother had said the lines, the context, all of that.

She let him sit in her chair as she rewound the tape to the right time, and for some reason, she was smiling about it. He asked her what she was so happy about all of a sudden, and she only turned it around against him. "Look at you," she said. "Given a case you instantly cast all your worries away. It's so predictable."

Under a different set of circumstances, he might've been irked that she was making fun of him, but knowing what day it was, and that she would never let him listen to her mother's tapes lightly, he let it slide.

After all, he was trying to keep those dark thoughts out of her mind, and as long as she thought making fun of him was more important, that was mission accomplished.

* * *

 _For CoAi Week 2018 Prompt #2 – "Protect"_


	4. Virgin

The moment Shinichi got back to his table with Shiho, he knew something was different.

He'd felt bad about leaving her there, but Inspector Megure had called him specifically to discuss case details for a trial. Shinichi had felt uneasy about refusing the call, and Shiho had encouraged him to take care of it, so he'd stepped away to avoid people nearby overhearing. Unfortunately, it'd taken longer than he would've liked, and by the time he returned, Shiho was already halfway through a margarita.

Shinichi would be the first to say that Shiho wasn't as cold and she might seem, and he did enjoy their relationship. They could talk about anything from the nature of knowledge to recent J-League fixtures to her intense disapproval of his hairstyle. It was that last part that seemed most emblematic of their relationship: the banter. It was fun and engaging and didn't offend him, but she was never the type to be overly affectionate.

Right away he noticed that she was _different_ that night. She lazily traced her finger around the rim of the margarita glass, and instead of making a cutting remark about how long he'd been gone, she was distinctly more animated than usual. "Unraveling the mysteries of the world one case at a time, hm?" she said with a dreamy smile on her face. "You're really something, aren't you?"

He tried rolling with it like usual, assuming she was leading up to some brutal punchline that would keep his ego in check, but if Shiho was supposed to be a panther lying in wait, she wasn't pouncing just yet.

"I don't know why you're acting so suspicious," she said, leaning over the table in a manner that put her face quite close. "My boyfriend doesn't just fancy himself a superhero; he's constantly making it reality. Any woman would be impressed."

Shinichi had to wonder—was that her _first_ margarita? She said she lost track. What on earth had gotten into her to let herself go so far?

That being said, it was tempting to take advantage of the situation. Just having heard her say she was impressed with him had made him wish he'd been recording the conversation. What else could he get her to say?

Of course, Shiho was still sharp enough to pick up on his efforts to steer the conversation. "You know you're clever; you don't need me to tell you that!" she insisted loudly, enough to make him worry that he needed to shush her to avoid drawing attention from other guests. "That's not your problem," she went on. "Your problem is that you insist on being suave and dramatic! You let your feelings out in bursts and then act as though they don't exist. That's not normal. There are lots of thing about you that aren't normal, but that's definitely one of the worst!"

So much for getting flattering admissions from her. Still, it was surprising. He'd never thought of himself as shutting himself off. He just had work to do and didn't need irrelevant stuff getting in the way.

"Like right now," she began. "You've taken me to dinner. Are you even having a good time?"

He was about ready to laugh. She was far more drunk than he'd ever seen her. It was intriguing because her body language was relaxed, and the way she was batting her eyes and crossing her legs could _almost_ convince him she was thinking about skipping dinner, but even putting all that aside, he was enjoying himself. These were thoughts of hers, a side of her, that he once thought he would never see.

"Boring and ordinary, isn't it?" she remarked bitterly.

"Come on. Every time I learn something new about you, it seems like it completely changes my idea of who you are. It's fascinating."

"So I'm just another case to you—a puzzle to solve?"

He didn't feel that way. If he had, then he would've been annoyed to have her spilling all these things without him trying. Instead, he was annoyed that she was doing it because of alcohol instead of as a sober measure of trust.

"I do trust you," she said, in a more measured and considerate voice than she'd managed for the rest of dinner. "I thought I trusted you on the things that matter and that all the rest of it would figure itself out in time." She looked at her drink. "But it doesn't work that way, does it? People have to try when it comes those sorts of things."

Though he could agree with her sentiments, he still chalked it up to a little too much alcohol spurring on a bout of melancholy. For that alone, he hoped she wouldn't touch another drop all night, but Shiho still found it appropriate to order another margarita—despite Shinichi's strenuous objections to the server. She excused herself to the bathroom just as the next drink arrived, so Shinichi took the opportunity to take that drink and find somewhere to pour it out before Shiho drank any more and said something she would really regret.

But, being a detective, something was nagging at him. Just how strong was this drink to make her lose so much of her inhibition? He took a whiff of it.

And he frowned.

And he muttered something under his breath. "That woman…!"

He went right back to his table, placed the margarita next to Shiho's plate, and waited. Shiho returned, all overly-genuine smiles, and sipped her drink without batting an eye.

"You know," said Shinichi, "I think that drink might be a little weak."

"Oh, is it?" Shiho stiffened a little, sitting up straighter. "Well, that's probably for the best. On second thought, I've probably had enough."

"You have," he said.

"But I don't regret it," she went on, eyes firmly fixed on him.

"I don't, either," he said.

She smiled, and she didn't touch her drink for the rest of the night.

* * *

 _For CoAi Week 2018 Prompt #3 – "Poison/Alcohol"_


	5. Chameleon

Shinichi's mother always liked Shiho for some reason. Shinichi couldn't put his finger on why. In a vacuum, he would've thought Shiho to dislike his mother's personality—nosy and irreverent, being serious only when it suited the former actress's whims, but Yukiko had always made a point of looking out for Shiho, whom she treated like the daughter she'd never had.

That, and they both liked to tease Shinichi mercilessly.

If Shinichi could've escaped, he would've, but he needed Shiho to help crack a tough case, and he needed his mother to apply one of her impeccable disguises. The culprit had a type he was going after—bleached hair, medium height, outgoing, sociable. He had to supervise, but these two women in his life weren't going to let him off easy.

"He pulled a muscle trying to act like he's still a soccer star," Shiho told his mother.

"Who would've thought—my little Shin-chan's not taking care of himself properly?" Yukiko remarked with a disappointed look. "Someone's going to have to discipline you properly, young man."

Better Shiho than his mother, then. That was all he could hope for.

Like his mother, Shiho was excellent at getting herself into a role. The mark she was going to play had to be personable and easygoing. Once the makeup was done, she composed herself, and she rearranged her normal expression—neutral bordering on "don't waste my time with nonsense"—to a warm smile. "My name's Ichinose," she said, practicing. "Nice to meet you!"

Yukiko couldn't have approved more. If Shiho hadn't been so attached to her work, she would've made a fine actress. Shinichi wondered about that—had she ever considered it? She could be so many different sorts of people—teasing and coy, serious and knowledgeable, or even friendly and kind (if in a guarded way, unless small animals or children were involved). What kind of person would she be if she were different in one of those ways?

"Let's practice how you're going to respond," he decided, and without makeup, he approached her as if he were the perp. "Is this seat taken?"

"Please," she said. They placed a stool beside her, and Shinichi sat down.

They worked through some introductions. They were both alone and looking to meet people. Shinichi could only work off the profile, but he said he was an graphic designer. She acted so interested, taken in by talk of beautiful things. She was acting all right, but there was a spark and joy in her eyes as they spoke—a rare treat.

"You're really good at this," Shinichi concluded when they were finished walking through the script. "You almost had me convinced you were actually interested."

She smiled, but it wasn't full of the innocent joy that she'd shown just a few minutes before. "What makes you think I'm not?"

"Oi, oi," he said. "You're a woman of many faces; what makes you think I like this face the best?"

"You like all my faces."

Shinichi thought long and hard, but he realized he couldn't argue with that. "Yeah…"

Shiho smiled again, and though she looked a little different in her bleached wig and metallic gray eyeshadow, there was something quite familiar about that smile, and more assuring, too. It wasn't wide-eyed and naive like the one she'd used as part of her role. It wasn't sly and teasing like the one he'd seen just a moment ago. Shiho's warm smile for him was measured but relaxed. There was nothing put-on about it.

And he liked that just fine.

* * *

 _For CoAi Week 2018 Prompt #4 – "Disguise"_


	6. Nineteen

Ai never understood how Conan could be so transparent if someone caught him hiding something. It wasn't that he was incapable of deceit—far from it, he seemed to practice it more often than not—but he seemed utterly incapable of inventing a convincing lie unless the whole thing was plotted in advance.

So when Ai caught Conan having suspiciously private conversations on his phone, she knew all she had to do was call him out on it. "Who's that you're talking to so quietly?" she asked. "Jodie-sensei?"

He hung up abruptly. "No, no, no one like that!" he said. "Really!"

Sure it wasn't. Who was it then? Of course, he wouldn't say. All he could say was that it was nothing she should worry about.

"So, it's nothing serious, then?" she asked.

He made a strange, wishy-washy expression. "I wouldn't go that far."

What kind of answer was that?

Try as he might, Conan was doing a terrible job of hiding whatever was going on. Ai came home unexpectedly early one day, only to find Yusaku and Yukiko Kudo had stopped by the Professor's, along with some strange people dressed in working jumpsuits and overalls. Yukiko tried to pass it off as helping the Professor with some remodeling, which he had conveniently not mentioned to Ai somehow. It was a pathetic lie, and Ai had expected better from Yukiko, who was usually so convincing.

And it wasn't just them, either! The Detective Boys suddenly became unwilling to go out and do things after school, saying they were busy with family or studies or other such transparent lies. It was obvious Conan had quietly convinced them not to hang out with Ai for her and their own protection. There was no other plausible explanation. If there were, the kids wouldn't have been so bad at lying to her. Mitsuhiko in particular couldn't have been more flustered about it. For that boy to refuse a date with her on a weekend? There wasn't a chance it was anything normal.

Ai got fed up with it, and she knew Conan had to be to blame. What was really going on? He'd promised her! After the debacle on the train and the long-term deception with "Subaru"—he owed her that much!

"I'm telling you there's no problem!" he insisted. Well, he could insist all he liked, but that wasn't good enough! Did he expect her to ignore everything her eyes and ears told her? To ignore that everyone around her was blithely acting like nothing was wrong and denying her every suspicion? It was no way to live. Maybe he wasn't so afraid, thanks to his foolish overconfidence, but she was, and she was tired of him asking for her trust and not giving anything back!

All those feelings spilled out of her, and she and Conan stared at her for some time while her embarrassment mounted, but instead of trying to keep up his "not to worry" facade, Conan seemed suddenly serious.

"Come with me," he said.

He took her to the Professor's, and when they arrived, he asked the Professor to open the door to the "remodeled" area.

"It's not ready yet," the Professor argued nervously, looking at Ai.

Conan sighed. "She's going nuts because none of us is being straight with her. Who cares if it's not ready? At this rate, none of that's gonna matter. Open the door."

The Professor took out an unfamiliar keychain, and Conan led Ai into what was usually the Professor's workshop, which hadn't been "remodeled" at all. It had been _decorated_ for a party, with a banner hanging opposite the door. _Happy Birthday, Ai!_

"You're gonna pretend you're surprised when we get here tomorrow," said Conan. "Right?"

Ai could handle that much, and for the first time in over a week she felt relieved. She found the Professor outside and thanked him for the gesture, but the Professor couldn't take credit for it. After all, he didn't know when her birthday was.

Ai shot Conan a look, but he put his hands behind his head and strolled by innocently. "I just must've heard about it somewhere."

He really was a terrible liar sometimes.

* * *

 _For CoAi Week 2018 Prompt #5 – "Secret"_


	7. Doctor

Shinichi didn't expect to understand much about Shiho's thesis defense, but he underestimated how little a layman can understand about advanced biochemistry. Sure, it looked like a run-of-the-mill presentation, but once they were about four slides in, Shinichi was feeling a little lost. Knowing how to name organic compounds (like how the suffix _-ol_ signifies an alcohol group attached to some larger base molecule) was one thing, but Shiho was talking about phenomena and research he had little knowledge of. It all looked like it made sense, and Shinichi had had a little more personal experience with cutting-edge biochemistry than he would've liked, but he still had to trust that Shiho was doing well.

Overall, he didn't mind not understanding too much about the presentation. Shiho would surely fill him in later. What he did mind was that, once the committee was through and had announced Shiho had passed, one of the professors stayed a bit longer to talk to her. He was very interested in her research and cross-disciplinary opportunities, trying to convince her to join his lab after she graduated, or perhaps that of a collaborator at a university in Tokyo, should she be interested. Shiho promised to keep that in mind, and this professor, a Frenchman, kissed her on both cheeks for good measure.

Once they were through, Shinichi walked Shiho back to her apartment. She was tired, having spent weeks perfecting her defense, but the opportunity to work at a lab back in Tokyo was appealing, and she couldn't help but talk Shinichi's ear off about it. She certainly was having a good time.

"What are you so sour about?" she asked.

He wasn't being sour about anything. It was a great day for her, and it was nice that she was hitting it off so well with one of her committee members.

Of course, Shiho was not stupid, and she started grilling him about what exactly he meant by that. "Don't tell me you're jealous of Professor LeBlanc."

Why should he be jealous? That was an absurd idea.

"He really is quite charming, isn't he?" said Shiho. "I didn't know much about him before my advisor recommended him for my committee. He's a brilliant scientist. I hope we can have a constructive relationship in the future."

Shinichi narrowed his eyes. "You're making fun of me."

"Only because you're being childish, which often happens to you when it comes to women. Trust me, I've seen it many times. It's annoying." She smiled coyly. "Most of the time."

"And the rest of the time?"

She put her key in the lock to her apartment, but she stopped there, looking at him seriously. "The mysteries we've solved, the Detective Boys, and all that—those are things that will always be ours. No one else can share them. I don't just flutter between brilliant men, you know."

Of course she didn't. Shinichi had to feel silly for even making her say that out loud, but there was still something bugging him. "You didn't answer my question. What about the rest of the time?"

"The rest of the time, that jealous streak of yours can be cute, if you don't let it get out of control." She pulled him inside and whispered in his ear. "Tell me, Detective: does seeing another man so close to your girlfriend make you want to show her who's the better lover?"

Shinichi scoffed, and he let her drag him inside.

She really was quite brilliant.

* * *

 _For CoAi Week 2018 Prompt #6 – "Genius"_


	8. Striker

Detective Shiho Miyano dreaded dealing with celebrities. A good policewoman only wanted to do her job quickly and quietly. Cases involving celebrities were seldom quick and quiet. That was doubly true for this case: the murder of a fan at a soccer game. Just dealing with the crowd was enough of a problem. It was impractical to keep an entire stadium from leaving.

Of course, the first person she had to talk to was the person who'd found the body: Big Osaka's star forward, who'd been signing autographs for adoring fans.

Stadium security had been holding the forward in a secluded office just off the main concourse. He was, to Shiho's surprise, not especially tall, but he certainly had the legs of a soccer player.

"Did you touch anything?" she asked. "We'll need your fingerprints."

"Only the outside of the man's coat and his neck," he explained.

"You tried to wake him?"

"I came around in front to see if I could get his attention, but when I got in front of him, I saw that his lips were already blue from cyanosis, and there were strangulation marks around his neck. I touched his neck with two fingers to see if he had a pulse, but he wasn't breathing. He was cool to the touch. I don't have a thermometer on me, but I'd guess he'd been dead for almost two hours—maybe even since before the game started."

"What makes you say that?"

The soccer player seemed surprised. "Don't they teach you about this? It's Newton's law of cooling. It's exponential decay."

Shiho narrowed her eyes. "Newton's law of cooling is overkill if the victim has been dead for only a short period of time."

"That's true." The soccer player seemed embarrassed. "Sorry, I let myself get carried away."

That was natural in the case of facing a murder, but this soccer player knew a little too much about forensics. Shiho asked about that, and he admitted that his father was a crime novelist, and Shiho put two and two together. He was the son of _that_ Yusaku Kudo, the one who liked to make crime-solving sound so simple. That explained everything.

"Well," said Shiho, "this is the real world, and real crimes are often messy and complicated, so if you don't mind, please leave this to the professionals, all right?"

"Of course. I don't want to be a bother."

That much she could appreciate.

"But Detective Miyano," he said, "when the coroner took off the man's sunglasses, did he notice any petechial hemorrhaging?"

Shiho sighed. She had a feeling this soccer player just wasn't going to let it go.

* * *

*For CoAi Week Prompt #7 – "AU"


	9. Grasp

**Grasp**

The girl had stopped feeling cold a long time ago. She'd grown numb to it, insensitive to it. That worried her; she thought she might suffer frostbite, but she touched the tip of her nose from time to time, just to be sure. It stung to the touch; the nerves there hadn't died yet, but her senses had dulled. A flashlight cast a yellow glow on a wide spot on the ground, where a man had sunk down to his waist digging. The light wasn't much, but it was enough to blind her to the rest of the forest. Outside of a few trees, the rest of the universe may as well have been a wall of ink. The air was still and quiet, and only the man's steady rhythm of digging—his shovel sinking into the snow and dirt, then the soft sound of that discarded material impacting the snow around them—broke the silence. Even her own breath was dead silent.

The girl watched him from behind a rock, not daring to look with more than one eye. When the man seemed totally engrossed in his digging, she would check her phone with a trembling hand. Her hands were so cold and dry. They didn't seem like her hands at all but like those of an ice sculpture in Antarctica—so terribly brittle that they might snap off at the slightest touch. She kept her phone as dim as possible. She put it on silent so that man wouldn't hear, but no matter how she held it, the indicator at the top wouldn't ever show more than one tiny bar out of four, and even that one bar was tenuous and deceptive. She'd sent a dozen messages by then, each with her ice sculpture fingers clumsily pressing against the digital keys. She'd made mistakes—uncharacteristic for her. She'd hoped those mistakes would convince someone of the danger she was in, but each of her messages was written in deep crimson, reaching no one. She would've had more luck shouting into the dark.

"Any luck?" a boy, her companion, whispered in her ear. They were close to each other—closer than they'd normally be. It was the only way they could talk without being overheard. The girl shook her head, and wordlessly she nodded toward his pocket, where his phone was. He shook his head, too. They were cut off, but he was in a better state than her. He was well bundled-up. He could've stayed out there another hour. She'd gone out with only a light jacket because he'd insisted. There hadn't been time. He'd known the man with the shovel would leave soon. He'd promised it would only be for a little while. She could still see the sun then.

There was a faint metallic thud. The shovel hit something—the prize the man had been after. He sped up his pace, digging around the edges of the hole instead of at the center. If they didn't get help or stop him, they'd soon run out of time.

The boy had a plan of course. He had all sorts of gadgets and doodads at his disposal. He could make a soccer ball materialize from almost nothing, but he wasn't sure he'd land a clean shot at that range. No, his plan was more cunning than that. He could mask his voice to sound like someone else. He'd make himself sound like a lost little girl, begging for help from the man with the shovel. The strange voice would lure the man with the shovel toward the rock. Then, she could shoot the man with a tranquilizing dart.

It was an ambitious plan. It was impossible. How did the boy know the man wouldn't run away? What made him think she was in any condition to shoot someone with nothing more than a single-shot dart-throwing wristwatch? It was a tiny thing. Her hands wouldn't be able to keep it still. She wasn't even sure she could press a button, and if he thought to swap roles with her, she didn't think that would work, either. Her teeth were chattering. Playing actress in a matter of life and death could only go wrong.

"Hey," he said quietly, and he took her hands in his. His hands weren't cold at all. He had oversized wool mittens to keep him warm. If only he'd shown as much foresight when it came to her. "We can do this," he said. "Trust me."

He may have had a good track record, but the girl knew better than to trust in promises alone. She was cold and tired. Her hands were shaking.

"Stay with me now," the boy said. He took off his mittens and slipped them onto her hands. "Better now, right?"

The girl looked back at him, unsure whether to be annoyed he'd touched her without asking or amused that he could be so charming without realizing it. The mittens didn't do much—they were a small comfort against the cold—but they were a comfort. She wiggled her fingers, feeling the blood circulate through them less sluggishly. He, on the other hand, opened and closed his fists repeatedly to keep his fingers nimble.

The boy pointed for her to stay on one side of the rock. He went the other way with the undone bowtie in hand and put their plan in motion. He spoke into the bowtie and a woman's voice came out. The voice pleaded for help. It claimed not to see and babbled in fake delirium. Neither of them knew for sure whether the man would come up to help, but they hoped he would. It was cruel, in a way, to use a man's last ounce of goodness against him. He'd killed an old woman who'd been cruel to him and other children in the past. Other people might've let him be, but he'd already taken steps to cover up his deeds. He could kill again just to keep witnesses quiet. Maybe that's why he stepped out of the hole he'd dug and trudged toward the fake voice. Maybe it wasn't decency at all but a need for certainty—certainty that no one would ever know he'd buried someone there.

The boy had crept away in the dark, leading the man toward the trees. The man would pass by the rock at any moment, and all she had to do was point the the watch at him and press the button on the side. He'd fall over in a heartbeat. The girl watched for his shadow. She waited, trembling. She listened for his footsteps. He was on her left—wasn't he? She held her breath and clenched her jaw. Not a peep would come out of her, not even the chattering of teeth.

The man passed by the rock. The girl raised the watch on her wrist toward him and put her hand over the edge of the face and the side button. She pressed down.

And her finger slipped. The wool mitten was big and clumsy. She swore under her breath.

The man turned. His flashlight blinded her. Footsteps. "Run!" cried the fake woman's voice. The man's shadow lunged at her.

She stuck her hand in her mouth, bit at the end, and pulled the mitten away. She leveled the watch's sight on the glow of the flashlight, then aimed a hair higher, and shot.

The man fell against the rock and tumbled. His limp arm slapped her across the face. The girl was stunned and blinded but alive.

The boy crouched beside her. Was she hurt? Could she stand? He peppered her with a thousand questions about why she didn't fire when she had the chance. On and on he went. He even had the gall to tell her she'd bitten all the way through the wool of his glove. He'd need to get it fixed.

"Sorry," she said. "When we get back, I can fix it."

The boy rolled his eyes, and he stuffed the mittens into his pockets. "Don't worry about such a small thing. Now, come on, up you go." He offered a hand, and she took it, letting him pick her up off the snow, and as they walked back to the resort, her hand was no longer cold.

 _For CoAi Secret Santa 2018 - 'Mittens'_


	10. Home Movies

**Home Movies**

Shinichi had become quite good at cooking, he thought, but his daughter Masako would never say so. She was a stubborn child, and even gentle teenagers seldom compliment their parents anyway. One time he tried to bond with her through a cooking exercise, but she objected to it right away. For one thing, she liked her mom's recipes better, and he didn't know them very well.

That Sunday, Masako didn't sing her father's praises for his fox udon or his encyclopedic knowledge of why it was called _fox_ udon even though there was no fox meat in it. She had tests to study for, and her friends were busy, and she was carefully avoiding her boyfriend, so she retreated to her room for the afternoon. He reminded her that it was an important day. Her mother was with Aunt Akemi. It was a time for family and bonding. Masako understood that, but what did he want her to do?

He thought about her question for some time, sitting at the computer—her mother's computer. He'd seldom used it. He'd always been on the go. He was a detective, after all, but she'd run simulations of proteins on her computer. It was a powerful machine, built for science, and she kept meticulous records and backups.

It was her penchant for backups that inspired him to power on the computer and do some looking around. She'd never felt the need to hide her work and research from him, and he wasn't interested in all that anyway. Her photos and videos were organized into distinct folders for every occasion. It was thanks to her great sense of orderliness that he found some gems—videos of the two of them in the past, before Masako's birth.

He waited for Masako to come down on a break from studying, and he invited her to her mother's computer to take a look. The videos were old, of course. It had taken him a while to find a video player compatible with the old format, and they lacked the resolution and color gamut of newer methods, but they were still videos. They weren't hard to make sense of. The first video was of the two of them at Professor Agasa's (long overdue) wedding. He'd had the privilege of being a groomsman, her a bridesmaid. The Professor had devised a spiral contraption meant to symbolize his and his bride's mutual and eternal love. It had worked mostly as designed. Everyone thought it was just like him, but it was still such a spectacle that Shinichi and Shiho could hardly suppress their amusement as they followed the bride and groom out.

Masako watched over his shoulder, her eyes following the two of them as they walked, even up to when Shinichi's mother gave Shiho her phone back. "Mom looks the same," Masako said, "but I didn't realize you used to be so young. When did you get old, Dad?"

What a little charmer she was.

Still, Masako couldn't hide her fascination as Shinichi went through a few old videos, such as Shiho's thesis defense or their honeymoon on Kaua'i. Shinichi sneakily stepped away, claiming he was thirsty, and when he returned, Masako had taken his chair. He brought another chair over from the writing desk. When one video finished, Masako asked him what else he wanted to see, and they navigated the tree of folders—of memories—as if climbing into the past.

"I never knew you two were so mushy," Masako remarked after a kiss went barely hidden off-camera. Her mother had seldom shown that side of her in front of Masako, so it didn't surprise Shinichi to hear that. Shiho had always put a premium on maintaining order, and she'd felt some physical displays should be kept private. Masako's growth and development had been her priority.

No one could know when loved ones would exit one's life, but it was bound to happen sooner or later. Friends drift apart, people fall in and out of love, and everybody dies in the end. These fates weren't worth fearing. He'd seen too many people act rashly because they were afraid of loss or death. Some became criminals—lying, cheating, stealing, or killing to hold on to what was fleeting. Others gave in to despair, letting their lives fall apart around them. He hoped to avoid those fates. Seeing those videos of Shiho from the past reminded him of just how unexpectedly someone could enter one's life. The first time he saw her, he couldn't have imagined what would happen to them or that behind her icy, aloof demeanor was somenoe who would give up a lot for friends and family. These were important lessons—for him and Masako. She'd enter high school soon, but she already had a boyfriend—and he could end up going somewhere else, possibly out of town. "Enjoy it while you can," said Shinichi. "Don't let worrying about the future spoil what you have right now."

Masako seemed to take that to heart. Rather than stay in hiding, she decided to get out of the house for a bit. Maybe she would see her boyfriend. They could do some studying together. They could worry about getting into high school before worrying about what was next after that. Of course she took off without so much as a _thank you_ , but that was all right. Shinichi would find a way to hold it against her later.

As afternoon turned to evening, Shinichi thought about making dinner himself, but he decided against it. The house was quiet. He was all alone. It was a good time to read, so went to his library and picked out a copy of _The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes_. It was a well-worn tome with a faded green front, and inside the cover, there was a short handwritten message. "I will never understand how you can read the same mysteries over and over and still find them intriguing, but please don't change. It makes shopping for you easier. -SM"

Shinichi smiled at that, but he got only a few pages into "The Final Problem" before a sound at the front door interrupted him. Someone was struggling with the lock.

"Is that you?" he asked through the door.

"No."

Chuckling to himself, he opened the door, and Shiho came in with her arms full of flowers. Apparently Akai had been by the grave again and left an extravagant display of his love and regret for Akemi's death. It was just too much, and she couldn't just leave all those flowers there. Shinichi took one bouquet off her hands, and they spent the next five minutes trying to round up some pots or vases. He explained that Masako had gone to see her boyfriend for the first time in two weeks, which Shiho thought was a positive change. She chided him for not starting dinner. "What were you doing while I was out visiting my siter's grave? Reading Holmes stories again?" Well, that was partly true, but it wasn't just any Holmes story, or any copy for that matter. That mollified her a little. "So what did you do all afternoon?" she asked with just enough edge in her voice to make clear she wanted a good answer.

"I showed Masako how amazing you are," said Shinichi.

That intrigued her. "Go on."

"You remember the Professor's love spiral?"

She made a face that almost made him burst out laughing. "I told him not to do that, but he just had to."

"I found the video. There was an absolutely stunning bridesmaid."

"Oh really?"

"Yes, and she couldn't hold a candle to you."

Shiho stared back at him, speechless for a moment before her wits came back to her. "You mean to say you paid attention to another woman? I should be unhappy about that." How unhappy could she be, though, with such a contended smile on her face?

Still, Shinichi promised to make it up to her. He brought his laptop over so they could watch the old videos while making dinner together. In the end, they watched for hours, through dinner and after, as they waited for Masako to come home.

 _For CoAi Secret Santa 2018 - Prompt 'Movie'_


	11. Newcomers

**Newcomers** (crossover with _Toy Story_ )

When Andy's aunt came back from a month-long visit to Japan, she brought some interesting toys back with her: a little kid in glasses and a bowtie, claiming to be an ingenious detective, and a little girl who seemed unusually mature for her (apparent) age. When toys disappeared, "Conan" would be the first to put together an investigation, frustrating Woody, who considered himself the top lawman in the house, and Buzz, who disliked Conan's freewheeling style and pushed for a more orderly and hierarchical approach. Still, Conan usually tracked down missing toys in record time, picking up on clues that Woody and Buzz would miss. As "Ai", the other toy from Japan, would tell them, "He _is_ brilliant; just make sure he doesn't put himself in harm's way. And don't tell him I said that."

That was easier said than done. After Andy invited a few other children over, Conan became concerned at the poor state of one family's toys. He began looking into the matter on his own, sneaking out at night to investigate the neighbors (despite the threat of dogs in the area), and talking about a "Black Organization" that trafficked in abused toys and toy parts. Buzz tried to talk Conan out of this obsession, saying that Conan shouldn't forget he was a toy, but Conan didn't listen. He spread the word of the horrible conditions he'd observed, about toys in need. Sarge and his men listened, and there was talk of putting together an operation. Woody was still against it, warning that liberating other toys from the neighborhood wouldn't be easy and that Andy's family could be suspected of theft. They needed more time to figure out how and where to place the freed toys, and he favored trying to get Andy's parents involved. They could put pressure on neighborhood parents, after all. Conan and Sarge seemed to listen, but after one night of their reconnaissance missions, they didn't come back.

Woody put together a posse to go out searching for Conan and Sarge. Ai insisted on going along, saying she knew how Conan would think, but Woody made her promise to stay with Buzz at all times. He was fairly sure that wouldn't happen, but at least he made her say it.

The trek to the neighbor's house wasn't easy, especially in broad daylight. Two cats had free reign in the neighborhood, and one of them happened upon the search party. Woody had one of the Little Green Men and Jessie create a distraction by taking Bullseye the horse and putting the alien toy on him while Jessie did her best to squeeze the alien for its characteristic squeaking sound. They drew the cat away while Woody, Buzz, Ai, and the rest of the group went forward, but Woody seemed unnaturally distracted by Jessie squeezing the alien. Buzz snapped him out of it, calling him _Sheriff_ , and they moved on.

The group managed to force their way into the house through a doggie door, but the children's room was in disarray. Some of the resident toys thought Woody and Buzz had come to abduct them like Conan and Sarge had. Ai managed calm them down and find out what happened. Conan and Sarge had found out that the parents had planned to go on a donation drive, so they convinced some of the abused and disfigured toys to sneak into the donation boxes and hitch a ride to freedom. Some of the residents wanted Woody and Buzz to get their friends back. Others were angry with Conan and Sarge for convincing their friends to leave, and they responded to the appearance of more intruders with force. With time running out before Conan, Sarge, and the neighborhood toys would be delivered to the donation center, Buzz and Rex covered for the others, holding the opposing toys at bay while Woody, Ai, and the rest ran for their lives.

Even though they escaped the neighbor's house, there was still a question of how to get to the donation center. For that, Ai had a plan that involved some minor vandalism: the toys lured the neighborhood cats to dig through the garden, prompting Mrs. Davis to shoo them away and prepare for a trip to the home improvement store, next to the donation center. The toys then hitched a ride in a box in the back seat and snuck out when Mrs. Davis headed inside.

In the donation center, the toys faced a group of hostile Salvation Army toys. "Once you're donated, the only way you leave is with a needy family!" their leader insisted, and they commanded the entire store against Conan and Sarge's men. It was a battle all down the aisles, with Nerf darts zipping past and marbles spread like boulders over the floor to block the toys' escape, but the most daunting enemy of all was the Transformer Optimus Prime, who towered over many of the other toys and who personally cornered Sarge and his men. Conan tried firing a tranquilizing dart from his wristwatch, but it had no effect. For one, it wasn't a real tranquilizing dart—just a small, detachable projectile that would've been a choking hazard for children aged 2 or younger. Aside from that, robots and toys can't be sedated, so it wouldn't have had an effect even if it had been real.

Instead, Woody and Ai talked Optimus Prime out of holding Sarge. Sarge and his men would certainly try to escape even if given away to another family, and the battle risked damaging all the toys in the store, which would only hurt other needy families and children who wanted good gifts at this time of year. This moment of doubt was enough to make Optimus hesitate, and Sarge and his men snuck away into an air vent, beyond where the other toys could reach. With their escape secure, Woody and the others hitched a ride on RC and raced back to Mrs. Davis' car, just in time for her to come back with fencing and cat repellent to keep her garden safe, and though the toys had all been recovered, Ai gave Conan a piece of her mind, saying that it was insanely reckless of him to go off on such a mission without consulting anyone. Sheepishly, he apologized for making her worry. She insisted she hadn't worried; she had just been stunned at his foolishness. The other toys laughed, and all was well.

 _For CoAi Secret Santa 2018 - "Disney AU"_


	12. Fandom

**Fandom**

Though some of the police had come to recognize Conan and the Detective Boys (well, mostly Conan) as insightful detectives, it was still a surprise to be invited to investigate a case. In a rare murder that Conan and company did not happen upon by chance, the police had found that the victim had been unusually interested in Ai—not, it seemed, for nefarious reasons. Instead, she was a fan.

"Ai is the most interesting and well-developed of the Detective Boys," the victim had written in an online journal. "Conan is too much of a dolt for his own good."

This group of fans had followed the Detective Boys in their exploits against Kaito Kid. They followed all the latest news, gossiped amongst each other, and even wrote imagined stories about the children. "Ai is the only one who can understand Conan and keep him in check," another fan had written.

Never mind that having people hoard photos of her was dangerous; Ai grew increasingly dismayed at the concept of people writing imaginary stories about her, the Detective Boys, and in particular, about her and Conan in various states of suffering innocent childhood crushes toward each other—or just as bad, with the other Detective Boys.

The victim had come into conflict with a group of rival fans. Some of them liked Ai with Mitsuhiko more. Others still had some deranged age-gap fantasy about Conan growing up and dating Ran, which would've made a startling amount of sense if they'd known his condition, but since they didn't, that was the most bizarre group of the bunch—well, outside of the Ai/Genta fans.

To try to defuse tensions in the Detective Boys community, another fan had hosted a get-together dinner, and there the woman fell to foul play. The host was a respected member of the community, but she leaned toward Conan and Ayumi more as a pair. The second guest was an artist. She was evasive about the types of drawings she made and where she shared them on the Internet, and once Conan and Ai found her gallery, they wished they'd never known about it. The third guest was a video blogger who obsessively followed every new showdown between Kid and the Detective Boys with half-hour-long videos sporting five minutes of news and the balance made of wild speculation.

The victim had died outside the house, having stepped outside to write a bluntly critical review of a fellow community member's story, which had fantasized about Conan and Ai finding love on a ski trip. She was only halfway through eviscerating Conan's lack of romantic qualities (in the story, Conan hoped) when she'd been stabbed with the pointy end of a paintbrush. For this reason, Inspector Megure suspected the artist, who had quarreled with the victim in the past about painting technique, media, and subject matter. The victim was no fan of digital art, and the two of them had often butted heads over the which form—digital or traditional art—was superior.

After some inspection, however, it became clear that the artist could not have done it. The paintbrush was nothing like the kind the artist typically used, and while some of her fingerprints were on the handle, Conan deduced that they were inconsistent with the how fingerprints would usually be left on a wooden brush. They had been planted.

Instead, focus shifted to the video blogger, who had pestered the victim to record a video together, but she'd refused, not wanting her face online. It had been a persistent source of friction between them, and the video blogger had asked again during the meetup if she would reconsider. The video blogger had also been out of the main room when the victim was attacked, but the police determined she'd been recording a "selfie cam" video trashing the victim's snobbishness and "delusions of privacy" around the same time that the victim was attacked.

The host claimed never to have left the main room, and each of the two other guests said that they never say her leave the room, either. Conan believed that there could be only two reasonable explanations: either all three of the other people in the house had conspired against the victim, or someone else was involved. The Detective Boys spend the afternoon and evening reading the victim's stories, which were generally safe for children, but Conan and Ai would ask the Professor to "read" the ones with adult content privately—in fact, Conan or Ai would read the story on their phones while the others had different assignments.

After reading pages and pages of reviews for the victim's work, Ai honed in on a particularly disgruntled reviewer who constantly pestered the victim to write more Conan/Ai romance and who seemed aggravated the victim wasn't going far enough. In particular, the victim had written a pair of epic stories that, when put together, rivaled _War and Peace_ , pitting a grown-up Conan against a particularly androgynous _Sailor Moon_ character (no, another one) in trying to claim Ai's heart. The suspect had browbeaten the victim over the ambiguous ending, in which it's unclear whether Ai picked Conan, the _Sailor Moon_ character, was dead or alive, was dreaming or part of a poker game, or had some sort of time manipulation effect.

It was far from proof of murder, of course, but whatever happened, Ai knew she would not feel the same way about the Higo fanclub ever again.

 _For Christmas 2018, and for my friend, I'm sorry._


	13. The Virus

Shinichi didn't see much of his wife those days–not since the cruise ship came under lockdown in Yokohama. While he was thankful that Shiho had put her days of personally leading quarantines behind her, it seemed a desk job was no less stressful in a time of potential pandemic. Shiho was gone in the mornings before he awakened, and she came back well after dark, laptop tucked in a bag and half open through dinner and into the night, running scenarios of disease transmission and crunching on molecular dynamics simulations with every spare CPU cycle. When she wasn't on the phone with her colleagues, Shiho ranted about the bureaucracy of the Health Ministry. "Damn fools," she'd said. She'd said her piece about them years before, arguing that the country needed an independent disease control body like the CDC in the States. SARS hadn't been that long ago. The new virus was a close cousin. But what did the politicians do? They cut funding. They kept control of the response in the hands of politicians, not experts. Her anger wouldn't accomplish anything, of course. She just needed to vent.

Shinichi felt a bit helpless in that situation. A detective could only do so much. Maybe he could help trace the movements of someone evading quarantine, but in the end, unless he thought he could go to Wuhan and find the infected pig that had started it all, there was no place for him in this crisis. All he could do was have dinner ready by the time she got home, make sure they had an ample supply of coffee, and put a blanket over her when she nodded off in her chair. She was so tired, every day, though she would never admit it.

With her laptop still running simulations one night, Shiho dozed in her desk chair. It was already midnight, and she would need to get to bed and sleep properly to be 100% for the next day—and the next crisis. Shinichi placed a kiss upon her cheek—a gesture he hoped would be just enough to rouse her without making her too awake.

"Don't go kissing sleeping women," she said drowsily as she rubbed her eyes. "That's sexual harassment."

"I should stop then?" he asked.

"You should ask permission."

"I see; I see." He offered her a hand and helped her out of the chair. The rest of the simulations would have to wait until morning. "May I, Dr. Miyano?"

She never would've liked how disheveled she looked, but at the time, there were more important things on her mind. Though she was weary, she smiled slyly.

"How can I say _no_ to that?"

 _For Valentine's Day 2020 Kiss Challenge – "Cheek"_


	14. Hero

Only a fool would face one of the Seven Crows with nothing more than a tranquilizing dart. Only Shinichi Kudo would dare try that while standing less than ten paces away from his would-be killer. He'd been lucky to escape with a gunshot wound to the abdomen. After how he'd survived poisoning with APTX, someone had to be looking out for him.

With the Organization crumbling, Shinichi was safe to go home and recuperate, and Shiho thought it was only proper to see how he was doing. Someone had to let him know how insane he was. Everyone else would just fawn over him for his daring.

On crossing into the Kudo home, Shiho felt something was unusual. It wasn't the first time she'd visited his home as herself, not as "Ai," but those previous occasions had been a long time ago. Nor had she seen the house so lively. With Shinichi's family returned from the States for the forseeable future, they were taking care of the house during Shinichi's convalescence. There was tea brewing when Shiho arrived, and Yukiko Kudo was quick to offer refreshments.

Yukiko was a nosy woman. She had so many questions for Shiho. What was she going to do? Did she have plans for university? Maybe travel the world for a bit?

Shiho hadn't thought that far ahead. She'd spent years wondering how she would die. To think she would be living instead was still a surprise. Every so often, she would pinch herself to see if she were experiencing some cruel dream.

Though she did insist Shiho say a little bit, Yukiko eventually allowed Shiho to see Shinichi. He was sleeping, but Yukiko had no problem leaving Shiho with him, in spite of her husband's concerns. "Though this may be the first time we've met this way," Yukiko said, "I think we all know whose side everyone is on, right?"

That was charitable of her. Shiho and Shinichi had been allies of circumstance and need. He would protect those in danger because that was what he did, no questions asked. Shiho had only been looking out for herself. When she approached him, he had been a convenient tool.

Shinichi was sleeping, and Shiho thought that for the best. There were no words to express what she felt. Disbelief? Gratitude? Admiration? Even together, they felt like shadows trying to approximate a real thing. Instead, Shiho pulled up a chair and took a book down from a shelf. In a surge of fleeting fancy, she leaned over and kissed him on the eye, but she ended the moment almost as soon as it began, and she started to read.

"Haibara," said a weak voice.

She tensed up, but he seemed none the wiser—only happy that she was alive and well.

"What are you reading?" he asked.

She smiled and flipped back to the first page. "In the year 1878 I took my degree of Doctor of Medicine at the University of London…"

 _For Valentine's Day 2020 Kiss Challenge – "Eyelid"_


End file.
